


resolution

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caught, Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Fluff, Sibling Incest, Tumblr: thebrotherswholoved, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, tHIS IS SO SHORT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: alone at bobby’s for yet another new year’s eve away from their deadbeat father, sam comes to realize the veracity of some...feelings he’s had for a certain attractive blonde hunter.in this oneshot, sam is 16 and dean is 20. I do not condone the pining of a minor; however, the age of consent in the state of south dakota is 16 years of age.





	resolution

It’s the thirty-first of December 1999, and the Winchester boys are cooped up in their ‘better father’ Bobby Singer’s home where John dumped them to go hunting. You know, just like he did on Christmas. And their birthdays—for the last six years.

The old man is most likely grumbling as he shuffles about in the grocery store looking for the sundae supplies that slipped his mind to buy last week. Yeah, he’s mumbling something about them being idjits under his breath, but he loves the boys: after all, he _is_ buying the things to surprise them. Meanwhile, the sixteen year old lanky teen is trying to build a tower with red cups and his twenty year old brother is searching through a million keys to find one that works to open the liquor cabinet. Sam’s cup-tower falls and he huffs, putting them away and walking into the main room to watch some lame program on the ancient television.

His green-blue eyes reflect the channels he’s mindlessly skipping through like glass, which is a perfect simile because he’s spaced out and oblivious to the world around him. That is, until Dean throws a pillow at him from behind and yanks him from his dissociation.

“Dude, the fuck?” He mumbles, pushing strands of hair from his face and sputtering at the ones that caught in his mouth from the impact.

Dean shrugs and takes a swig of the whiskey he successfully freed from the off-limits prison it was in. “It is a throw pillow.”

“Jerk.” Sam rolls onto his stomach with a stifled laugh.

“Bitch,” the older emphasizes the last syllable to annoy his little brother, because that’s what family is for. “Hey, where’s our cheery old geezer?”

“I think he said he was goin’ to the store?” He blows air through his pouting lips as a response.

Dean cocks his head for a moment but laughs. “On fucking New Years Eve? Send my regards to the other drivers on the streets, his road rage is pretty bad.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh and tosses the remote into his older brother’s hands. “See if you can find anything decently entertaining.”

The younger is shoved into a sitting posture by Dean, who smirks at him and tries to mold himself into the sofa. The dork holds the thing at the TV with a dramatic pout on his face, making gunshot noises every time he changes the channel.

Sam is chuckling at his nerd brother when he’s jerked into this emptiness out of nowhere. He can’t quite feel anything and can’t hear or think or comprehend…only a thought that he’s unable to identify. He knows this place well, all its darkness and disparity: it’s his state of denial. He only ever regresses into this state of mind when he’s around Dean, and he thinks he knows why. It’s ten o’clock on New Years Eve, and he’s just figured it out now instead of three years ago when it all started. His thirteen year old self is flipping him off, he can guarantee it.

He’s always felt… _something_ for Dean. He loved him like family because that’s what he is: his brother. Brother in arms, brother by blood, brother in every aspect of life; but, is that all there is to it? This feeling should give him comfort when it reminds him that he’s got Dean and in the way he does, but all it does is follow him into bed and hurl spears at him while he tries to sleep. It’s painful and feels wrong, but he knows it’s at its strongest when he happens to see his brother picking up some chick he met ten minutes ago and using all his terrible pickup lines that he just knows would work on a sucker like him. If this feeling he has for Dean is a deeper and more intimate than he thought—if this feeling is love—then he’s in a shitload of trouble.

“Hey, Beautiful Mind? Do I need to throw another pillow at y—“

“Am I sick?” He awakens from his sleep-like state with tears in his eyes. Turning toward Dean, Sam repeats himself a tone that’s crackling like Bobby’s furnace. “De, am I sick?”

“No! Why would you be?” The older brother turns off the idiot box and turns toward the boy, who’s failing to calm himself down.

Sam’s lips are quivering and he feels the ice running through his veins. “You…you’re gonna hate me. You’re gonna leave with Dad and just despise me—“

“I would never do that, Sammy,” Dean cuts him off by taking his smaller hand in his calloused one, hardened by the years he should have been spending as a boy instead of a man. “Please, tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“I think…I think I’m—“ He chokes on his words. He can’t possibly say that he loves him outright. He doesn’t even know…oh, he should probably lead with that. “I’m gay.”

Dean stares for a minute that seems like wins for Sam, who’s panicking inside. If he can’t handle this PSA, he won’t respond well to the whole ‘I’m in love with you’ thing. Without warning, the sandy blonde man snorts and bursts into laughter, holding his stomach while his little brother waits in utter confusion.

He begins to calm down and looks at Sam with the spasms of humor still rocketing through him. “Dude, you thought I didn’t know?! Oh my god, I gave what’s-his-face, the one you had a crush on in the eighth grade—Liam!—I gave Liam some pointers on how to ask you out. I also threatened him with my 12-gauge, but whatever.”

“You…that’s why he didn’t wanna do homework at the motel!” Sam’s laughing now, but he knows he has to get his point across. “I don’t think your pointers worked though. I had my sights set on someone else. Wasn’t really my type.”

“Oh?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “And what type would that be, lover boy?”

“Y’know: blonde, almost brown hair, a little older, mysterious, handy, loves flannels…” he hums. Looking over at Dean, he bites his lip and grits his teeth. “…and owning a ‘67 Chevy Impala is just the cherry on top of the cake.”

The older of the two almost makes a sarcastic comment, but Sam’s obvious shameful look and honest eyes choke the air from his lungs. He finds his voice again after a second and opens his mouth to say something, anything—the thing that’ll make or break their relationship.

“I-I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know,” he rubs the back of his neck and watches as Sam nods with a doleful frown. Inhaling once more, he prepares for the typhoon to hit. “If I knew…hell, I’d probably have told ‘ya how I feel sooner.”

“What?” Sam sits upright and stares in shock at the gorgeous man in front of him, at last feeling as though he can call him that without moral flagellation. “You l-like me? In that way?”

The younger’s stomach plummets when he sees Dean shake his head, but feels a shaky hand pull him off the sofa and into the center of the room. “No, Sammy, I don’t like you. I love you. I get it: it’s weird, it’s sick, I’m basically a pedophile and—“

Sam holds a finger to his lips and takes a few steps toward Dean, pausing to look up into the green expanses above him.

Mere inches from the man he’s loved since he knew how to love, he dons a courageous and challenging veneer and cranks it to eleven.

“If you feel that way, if you love me,” he bites his lip and watches Dean’s face fall, “then prove it.”

Both of them feel like they going to explode treading into this new, foreign territory; but one of them has to take the leap of faith. Dean’s seeing his life flash before his eyes, but when he sees his soulmate expecting the unthinkable from him, he loses his sanity and dives into the deep end.

Pulling him close, Dean sees Sam’s eyelids flutter shut as their lips collide, a beautiful sight. He traces his fingers along his jawline and leans in closer, tears now gathering in his eyes. He always thought he was sick—and hell, maybe he is—but he’s not alone anymore. Dean cups the back of Sam’s neck and shudders at the most gorgeous sound erupts into the space between them: pure bliss.

When they part, the first thing Sam does is become worried at the tear tracks running down his brother’s cheeks like rivers. “D-Dean are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No! Not at all, that was…god, that was just what I’ve wanted for a while now, that’s all.” He sniffles and rubs his thumb along Sam’s bottom lip, making the younger boy’s eyes shut in disbelief, ecstasy, and contentment.

“Please,” he whispers into the hush engulfing their surrogate father’s home, “please kiss me again. Please.”

In less than a second they’re in each other’s arms again, lips connecting like they’re meant to be together. In the sacred, private world of bliss they’re dwelling in, neither of them notice the back door unlocking and bags being set down on the kitchen counter. They hear a step and stop kissing, only to find a very shocked and speechless Bobby Singer.

“Uh…” He struggles for a moment, the boys watching in fear, before holding up a grocery bag. “Who wants whipped cream?”

**Author's Note:**

> yes, yes, I know this is short. I just liked this concept and wrote it on NYE to distract my jumpy self from the fireworks.
> 
> hope you enjoyed regardless!! xx


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